July 13 ~ Compassion Means Being Willing to be Interrupted

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Deuteronomy 30:9-14

Psalm 25:1-10

Colossians 1:1-14

Luke 10:25-37

(The content of this sermon was 100% written in Canada by a human)

Today, we are called to consider the wonderfully instructional parable of the Good Samaritan. In the gospel, a lawyer poses a question to Jesus: he seeks a guide for getting to heaven. “Love God, and love your neighbor,” Jesus tells him. To which the lawyer replies, “Define the word ‘neighbor’ for me.”

And so Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan. A man is lying injured in a ditch after being robbed. A priest walks by, sees him, and crosses to the other side. A Levite does the same. Finally, it is the Samaritan, the outcast, who stops and offers aid. The Good Samaritan doesn’t only help the injured man to safety, but he pays, out of his own pocket, for his care. “Which of these was the neighbor to the man?” Jesus asks the lawyer. The answer is obvious: the stranger who showed mercy.

This parable reminds me of something that happened recently, much closer to home. You’ve likely seen the headlines—yet another intense wildfire season in Canada. With 510 wildfires burning, and with at least 140 of those deemed out of control as of Thursday, entire towns have been forced to evacuate. Thousands of hectares of land have been scorched, wildlife displaced, homes destroyed. It’s devastating.

But what caught my attention wasn’t just the fires—it was the people who responded.

One story out of Garden Hill stayed with me. As the flames encroached and the air thickened with smoke, evacuation orders were issued, and residents began fleeing in every direction. But there were some who stayed—not because they had no means to leave, but because they refused to leave others behind. A young man, barely out of high school, loaded his pickup with bottled water and fuel, and drove back and forth on smoke-filled roads, helping elderly neighbours who had no transportation. He wasn’t a first responder or somebody trained in emergency aid. He was just someone who couldn’t bear the thought of people being left behind.

Other stories told of groups of volunteers in nearby communities who are turning their community centres, hockey rinks, and churches, into hubs for displaced families—setting up cots, offering food, and helping kids feel safe in the chaos. In many cases these weren’t people who had time. They had jobs, homes to secure, and families of their own to worry about. But they chose to act anyway.

Their actions raise the same question Jesus poses to the lawyer: who was the neighbor? The one who stopped. The one who showed mercy. Not because it was convenient. Not because there was a reward. But simply because someone was in need.

When we read the parable of the Good Samaritan, it’s easy to think we’d do the same. We’d stop and help. But the truth is, most of us live in a world that runs on tight schedules and full calendars. We’ve got meetings, appointments, kids to drive, deadlines to meet. We might see someone in need but feel we just don’t have the capacity to help. Or we don’t notice at all—because we’re moving too fast to see clearly.

The wildfire volunteers made me think about that. Like the Samaritan, they interrupted their lives for strangers. They didn’t just pause to hand someone a bottle of water—they stuck around. They drove people to shelters. They stayed up late comforting frightened children. They checked in the next day, and the next. Their response wasn’t a moment—it was a commitment.

Jesus’ parable is not only about compassion—it’s also about the willingness to be interrupted. The Samaritan doesn’t worry about the rules, or what’s appropriate, or what others will think. He sees need and he responds with his whole self.

And here’s the hard part: mercy is rarely convenient. Loving our neighbor, in real life, will often cost us something—time, energy, resources. But Jesus tells us, that’s the way to life.

Robert Funk, a New Testament scholar, once wrote of this parable: “The Samaritan does not love with side glances at God.” He doesn’t help as a performance or obligation. He helps the way God helps—completely, freely, and is fully present.

In a time when our country faces literal fires and metaphorical ones—climate change, economic stress, social division—what does it look like to love our neighbor? Perhaps it starts by slowing down enough to notice who needs us. Perhaps it means being willing to be interrupted. And perhaps, just like that young man in Garden Hill, it means turning around on the road and going back to where we’re most needed. Amen

July 6 ~ God's Vision is Clear. Following the Mandate of Peace in a Climate of Uncertainty...

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2 Kings 5 :1-14

Psalm 66:1-9

Galatians 6:7-16

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

(The content of this sermon was 100% written in Canada by a human)

Human beings are not comfortable with uncertainty. Not knowing the future, even in the short-term, is one of our greatest sources of anxiety. Today, there is a lot of uncertainty we need to learn to manage – not just from the tariffs and climate change and the wars threatening democracy and calling into question our humanity as a species, but more privately in our own lives. Perhaps you are worried about a symptom and waiting for a test. Perhaps you are wrestling with the relationships in your life. Uncertainty nags at us and wakes us up in the middle of the night.

So when we have times of clarity, they are powerful moments. When we make a connection at work or in therapy, or recognize our priorities, even reach an understanding about how to handle difficult family members, those lightbulbs may feel like gifts. They are resolute steps toward a future that makes more sense. But that clarity rarely comes without effort, or deliberation, without seeking the advice or knowledge of others – just as Jesus did throughout the gospel story. This is where we get lucky: we not only have the teachings of Jesus to remind us of what matters, and the mission we are called to fulfill, but we also have his example of how to find clarity in our own lives.

Today’s gospel reading is one of those powerful, clarifying moments for Jesus, one that clears the way for all who follow him. We see the courageous Jesus who leads without hesitation or fear. The Jesus who gets us moving toward a future of hope and new life. The Jesus who compels us to follow.

This morning’s gospel also helps us to achieve the clarity that we seek so desperately in life. In the 10th chapter of Luke, Jesus calls 70 others and sends them in pairs to all the places where Jesus was planning to go but didn’t have the time. The gospel was really starting to roll along. The message was spreading ahead of Jesus—perhaps too far ahead. “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few”.

Today is no different. The craving for the message continues to exist. We are now the seventy. We are now the ones being called. And we are called to go into those places where Jesus goes and intended to go—into universities, businesses, government buildings, gas stations, into every area of life that we walk into. We are called labourers because it won’t be easy: the work of the gospel, requires labour. In a world filled with so much hostility we are called to fulfill a mandate of peace – and not everyone will want to hear it. But Jesus coaches us: “Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandal; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house.’ If that peace is not received, carry on.”

Imagine 70 people going in pairs throughout a very diverse countryside where there were tribes of people defined by boundaries that had been fought for throughout the centuries — where fear of the Roman Empire threatened the autonomy of most cultures. Imagine being called to a mandate of peace in the midst of that kind of social climate.

Jesus tells them to persist and stay resilient: to keep sharing the peace with everyone they meet. Where peace was received, it would multiply. But even where it was denied, it would not deplete. The labourers were called to make the most of the place where they landed and to maintain the posture that it was not them, but God, who was doing the work of peace among the people of the communities that they visited.

I can’t tell you how many people I have seen lose sight of the posture that Christ calls us to live with as Christians. We can be proud of what we accomplish. We should be proud as a church community that remains vibrant and spirit-filled. But we should never let it become like the pride of the Syrian general Naaman in our first lesson. Our pride should be well mediated by humility so that it remains a posture of openness to the world, and thankfulness to God. For it is God who gives us the ability to heed the call to fulfill the mandate of peace toward others.

Jesus followed his call from God. Jesus maintained a posture of openness to all people hearing the message that the Reign of God had come near. Jesus fulfilled the mandate of peace.

Jesus lived with the knowledge that he would die being nailed to a cross. He lived with the knowledge of all the wrongdoing that surrounded him in people like the scribes and Pharisees that tried to trip him up; in people like Judas who was supposed to be a friend; in people like Pilate and other authorities who wanted Jesus to submit to their rule. Jesus even knew what it was like to be directly tempted by the devil.

If anyone should have had a cloudy view of the world it was Jesus. He saw the worst of humanity over and over again. Yet we learn in today’s reading that Jesus saw through all of it. He held to a faith in our inherent goodness. He believed we could learn from our mistakes. He had hope for our ability to love and forgive.

God’s vision was clear. And Jesus saw the power of the devil, and the influence of baser tendencies for what they were—nothing in comparison to God’s mercy and peace.

And so what happened to those people sent out by Jesus? The seventy returned joyfully, feeling successful in their mission: people, it appeared, wanted to hear the gospel. And Jesus celebrated their success and urged them to continue.

With all his lessons, Jesus teaches us the concrete steps to achieve clarity in our lives. If we heed God’s call to follow no matter where life places us; if we are truthful to the mandate of peace toward others; and if our posture is rooted in service to and for God - then our lives will be gifted with a clarity that sharpens our vision for freedom and new life.

I don’t know about you, but when I consider the life of Christ and the confidence that Jesus had to live out his life with purpose and integrity I am in awe. It’s the kind of living that inspires me. And Jesus says, to me and to all of you, freely and unconditionally, “Here it is—live it—you’re gonna love it.” Amen

June 29 ~ True Conviction is the Quiet Knowledge that Your Path is True

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1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21

Psalm 16

Galatians 5:1, 13-25

Luke 9:51-62

(The content of this sermon was 100% written in Canada by a human)

It has now been 20 years since I was introduced to one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. More than ten years ago, I spoke of Fahima Osman in a sermon. Fahima was discovered by a certain Globe writer I know, who had been given the challenge of finding the first Canadian-trained doctor to be produced by Toronto’s Somali community. The Globe found Fahima close to graduating from medical school at McMaster University, having defied the greatest of odds to get there. She arrived in Canada at the age of 11, crossing in from the United States with her parents and her younger siblings, with few family photos and a couple of bags of luggage. Her family was poor and had to start over from scratch. Fahima held down a part-time job to help pay the bills and studied with As posted up around her desk to remind her of her goals – in defiance of teachers who had told her not to aim so high. Her parents didn’t know any doctors to help her make connections, and when she got into medical school, she arrived without any mentors. And yet a year after The Globe story, Dr. Fahima Osman graduated from McMaster.

When I met Fahima, it was clear how she had achieved this goal: she was fierce and smart and determined, and she had the loving support of her family and siblings.

Erin remained in touch with her, and recently this year, followed up with a story to update us on where she has landed now. She is an experienced breast cancer surgeon. In these past years, Dr. Osman has worked diligently to improve patient care in Canada and to educate women about breast cancer. She will start this month at a new job, working exclusively as a cancer surgeon, while also training upcoming med students how to innovate and become entrepreneurs in their own right.

When asked if she would ever consider leaving Canada for a larger salary in the United States, Dr. Osman was unequivocal: she would never leave the Canada that had welcomed her family so long ago. Her goal, she said, is to improve the system, serve her patients, and fall asleep each night, knowing she has done her best.

When I hear the political discourse about newcomers to Canada, and some of the hate that seeps across the border from the United States, I always think of Fahima Osman, and wonder: are we doing all we can to create more proud Canadians like her?

This Canada Day, especially, is a moment to consider our values, to ask what we are celebrating. As a country, we have been, mostly to our credit, pretty good at self-criticism, at recognizing our failings and injustice, particularly to Indigenous Canadians, and trying, though imperfectly, to make amends. Around the world, we see democracies and cultures of openness and tolerance under threat, and we are called to look within ourselves and ask, what will we safeguard here in this country built by immigrants? An advertisement I heard recently pointed out that when you go to an airport, where people are coming and going from all parts of the country and world, anyone and everyone is or could be Canadian. You have only to travel yourself to know that this is a unique accomplishment of diversity.

The story of Fahima returned to me this week – not just because it’s Canada Day weekend – but because of the lesson in the gospel. Jesus sounds at his most severe. He has met someone in a village on his way to Jerusalem. “Follow me,” he tells the person. “I will follow you,” the person agrees. “But let me first say farewell to those at home.” That doesn’t seem unreasonable – after all, back then, leaving home often meant never going back again, especially travelling with Jesus into his risky future. But Jesus is stern: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Reign of God.”

That’s pretty harsh. I know if I were heading off on a potential one-way journey, I might want to say good-bye to a couple of people I live with, let them know what happened to me. But Jesus is having none of it: Come now or don’t bother at all, he seems to be saying. That’s a lot to ask.

But what does he really mean? These days, it seems we are full of buts, maybes, perhapses, or we’ll sees. We hesitate when we should act. We deliberate when the choice is clear. Only a literalist would assume Jesus was urging young people to abandon their families without a word – after all, he valued his own family, including the disciples, and took great care, as we learn later, with his own reassuring goodbyes.

Jesus was saying something deeper than that. He was saying if you are going even to try to follow the gospel, you’d better be all in. You can’t do it halfway, or when it’s convenient, or when the right people are looking. Sometimes, you have to make the world a better place without the chance to put your affairs in order.

And think about it – it’s hard enough to uphold a value when you believe it to be unbendable. If you are fluttering about a principle like a leaf, someone is going to come along and blow you down. You couldn’t go into the gospel – and you certainly couldn’t join Jesus back then – if you weren’t willing to take some pretty clear risks and make some obvious sacrifices. You had to be all in. No looking back. Committed.

Jesus also knew we’d mess up and have to start again. It’s like anything we put our hand to – if we aren’t committed to it, when things start to go a little wrong, we bail right way. It’s like the job that you really want to quit the first two weeks, but then you realize a month in that it’s where you want to be. Or the skill you want to learn, that’s really hard work in the beginning. Or the country that you believe in, that occasionally disappoints you. If you aren’t committed, why would you keep trying? Hit the first roadblock, and who wouldn’t bail?

So that’s what Jesus is really saying: it’s a hard road, and you’d better be sure you want to be on it, so that even if you fall along the way, you’ll find the strength to get up. Only in this way are great countries born, and communities built – because adversity strikes and fires rage and floods happen – and you have to keep going. Indeed, Fahima Osman is an example of this – through sheer will and determination she succeeded. She was all in, fierce and committed.

Many of us will know some young graduates – like Dr. Osman so many years ago -leaving one stage of life and entering another – heading off to university, or to a new school, the next step in getting older. One of the qualities that I would most want for them – as a pastor and a parent – is the power of conviction: not just knowing what is right but holding to it. This is the same posture I wish for my country, as a Canadian: that despite a more dangerous and uncertain world, Canada remains an example of tolerance and justice, humility and hope, of the importance of recognizing mistakes and working to correct them, of the strength of diversity. If those convictions hold, then we shall face this unsettled time without losing ourselves.

That’s what Jesus was saying. Without conviction in the gospel– without that quiet force of will – the world will break us. Conviction isn’t brash. Conviction isn’t about bragging. And it certainly isn’t staying on a path for the sake of staying on a path. True conviction, as Jesus so clearly demonstrated with his own life, is the quiet knowledge that your path is true, and that you won’t be turned from it. Amen